Roses and Regrets
by Windchime68
Summary: Some mistakes can't be undone, some heroes are flawed, and not all fairytales end in happily-ever-after. One-shot. Major spoilers for the game, including the ending. Rated T for adult themes. Surana/Alistair, Surana/Zevran


_A/N: I make no claim to any of the characters in this story (except for the unnamed protagonist) – they belong to others, and I simply borrowed them for a while. I hope I didn't tarnish them in the process. _

_Major spoilers for the game, including the ending._

_Although both are anonymous elven mages, the protagonist of this story is not the protagonist of 'Blood and Thunder' – they just happen to have similar backgrounds._

_Any comments/reviews will be greatly appreciated. Thanks for reading.  
_

**

* * *

Roses and Regrets**

She is in love, and wonder of wonders, he loves her too. And he is a prince, no less. She feels like she is in a fairytale.

She knows it cannot last.

She has never felt such love before, although she has always craved it.

She was taken away from parents she no longer remembers and placed in the Circle of Magi, and she had never imagined there would be anything else. The Circle was not a bad place; from all she has learnt, it was a far better home to grow up in than the alienage where she was born. But even though everyone was supposed to be treated as equals in the Circle, few were overtly kind to a shy young elf apprentice.

Then Duncan comes and whisks her away from the Circle, to be a Grey Warden, of all things.

And there is a battle, and Loghain's betrayal, and their unexpected rescue by the mysterious Flemeth. And there are darkspawn, and thieves, and walking corpses, and abominations, and assassins, and nightmares.

And through it all, there is Alistair.

She doesn't know when she fell in love with Alistair. It feels like she always has been in love with him, even before she met him. He is strong, and brave as a lion, and handsome, and kind, and funny, and charming in his own unique, bumbling way that just makes her love him all the more, and he is utterly devoted to her. He gives her a rose, and calls her beautiful, and counts himself lucky simply because she is there.

She thinks she is the lucky one. When he kisses her, she feels like her heart could burst from pure joy.

It should be perfect.

But it is not perfect, and she has only herself to blame.

Because there is also Zevran.

Zevran is smart, and sexy, and dangerous, and intriguing, and charming in a much more practised way than Alistair will ever be. He tries to kill her, and then he talks his way into their party, and into her good graces.

And into her tent.

And oh, Maker, but he makes her feel alive. He knows exactly how to flatter her, and kiss her, and tease her, and touch her, and he delights in every gasp and moan and cry of pleasure that he coaxes from her. She is the moth to his flame; she does not love him, but she cannot resist him.

Alistair is confused and hurt, a pain that shows in his eyes every time Zevran comes near her. But somehow, incredibly, he tolerates it; he accepts her assurances that Zevran means nothing to her, that he, Alistair, is the one she loves. He even accepts some of the blame, because he believes it is his fault for not declaring his feelings for her sooner, for not making his move before Zevran could.

The two men pretend to be friends, but no-one is fooled; they hate each other with a passion, because each wants what the other has. Alistair is jealous of the elf's intimacy with her, and Zevran resents the templar for having the one thing he is unable to coax from her: her love.

Alistair tells her that he wants to spend the night with her, and she is overjoyed, because surely now she can break the hold that the assassin has over her, and be content with the man she loves.

Alistair is gentle and attentive and caring and loving. And if she had never known the elf's touch, Alistair would be everything she wants and needs. But she has, and he is not, because he doesn't begin to make her feel the way Zevran does. She holds him and kisses him and tells him what she thinks he needs to hear, and it tears her up inside because they both know she is lying.

She goes to bed every night now with Alistair by her side, and she tries to ignore the siren call of the assassin's touch. Some nights, she fails, and when Alistair is asleep she creeps out of their tent, and into the dark with Zevran. She hates herself for it, and hates Zevran for it, but, Maker forgive her, she cannot stay away from him. She cries out in ecstasy and cries tears of shame, and is back at Alistair's side before he wakes.

A day comes when Alistair sees Zevran's hand on her waist as the assassin leans in to whisper in her ear, and it is one touch too many. It breaks him.

He drags her away from the elf, more roughly than she would ever have believed him capable of, and all the weeks of hurt and frustration pour out. Fists clenched, he rages at her, asking furiously if she really believes him such a fool that he does not know every time that she leaves his side in the middle of the night, only to return before dawn reeking of Zevran. He tells her that he cannot endure it, and he tells her he will not share her any longer, and he demands that she choose, once and for all, between them.

She is disgraced, and humiliated, and angry at him for exposing her shame in front of all their companions. She knows that she is the one in the wrong, but in a blind rage she lashes out at him anyway, shouting at him that she is not his to control.

She regrets the words as soon as she sees the wounded look in his eyes and the defeated slump of his shoulders. He tells her quietly, hollowly, that he was never the one who sought to control her. And then he walks away from her, ignoring her desperate pleas, and she knows that she has finally, irrevocably, lost him.

Zevran comes to her, and she realises then the depth of her mistake; she realises what Alistair meant, because the assassin cannot hide the triumph in his eyes. This has been his intention all along; to drive a wedge between her and Alistair; not because he was paid to, not because it makes her vulnerable so that he or someone else can finally fulfil the contract, but simply because he wants to possess her entirely. She screams at him, and he laughs at her pain, because he knows that she is broken, and that she is finally his.

She wishes now that she'd never let the assassin into their lives. She wishes now that he'd succeeded in killing her.

In a way, he has.

She dreams of plunging one of his own daggers into the elf's heart as he sleeps, and then plunging the other dagger into her own. But she does not, because she is weak, and because Zevran is all she has left. He knows that she needs him, and he never lets her forget it.

Alistair allows himself to be declared king. He does this because he believes in his duty to Ferelden, and perhaps also because it will take him away from her. He agrees to an alliance; he will marry Anora, and they will rule together. He does this because he believes it will unite the Bannorn, and perhaps also because he knows how much it will pain her to see him with another woman.

Riordan tells them that in order to defeat the archdemon, one of them must die. Riordan means for it to be him, but she fears that it will be Alistair who will die, and the thought is more than she can bear.

Then Morrigan offers her an alternative, and she grasps at it. But Alistair will have none of it; her opinion holds no sway over him any longer, and he does not even try to hide his distaste for both the ritual itself, and the thought of lying with Morrigan.

She breaks down, tears streaming down her cheeks, and begs him to reconsider. He asks her coldly why, and between sobs she reveals her dread that defeating the archdemon will cost him his life.

He sees the naked fear in her eyes, and it reaches him. He wipes her tears away and tells her that he will agree to the ritual.

Morrigan chases her out of the room with an evil glint in her eye, but out of some perverse impulse, she keeps the door from closing completely behind her, and she hears everything. She hears how callous and rough Alistair is with the apostate, although Morrigan does not seem to mind. She hears Morrigan's arcane chants, and Alistair's grunts. She hears when Alistair becomes caught up in the act itself, and base nature takes over.

And she hears him bite back his involuntary cry at the point of release, but he can't disguise it completely, and she flees then, her tears flowing anew, because what he cries out is her name. She doesn't know if it is because he hates her that much, or because he loves her still, and she doesn't know which is worse.

She escapes to the willing arms of the assassin, and he tries to comfort her, because in his own strange way he does love her, but her heart is broken, and there is nothing he can do to mend it. He is not the one, will never be the one, and he has always known this.

Riordan dies in a vain attempt to slay the archdemon alone, and she thanks the Maker that she was able to convince Alistair to agree to Morrigan's offer, because when the moment comes, he insists on taking the final blow, just in case. She begs him to let it be her, but he just smiles sadly at her and does it anyway.

Morrigan vanishes without trace after the battle, but the ritual has done what it was meant to, and they are both alive. The Blight is over.

She attends the coronation because it is expected; she and Alistair are the Grey Wardens who saved Ferelden, and she is as much a hero to the people as he is. She doesn't feel like a hero, but she reluctantly accepts her share of the glory because it is Alistair's wish that she does.

Her heart aches with pride as she watches her handsome prince crowned; she knows that he will be a great king. She tells herself that perhaps everything that happened was ultimately for the best, because there would have been no place for her in this new world of his. And without her betrayal to harden him, would he have accepted the crown? Would he have accepted Morrigan's offer?

But her heart aches with regret as she watches him married to another woman. When the happy couple kiss, she is unable to hold back bitter tears, but she smiles through them; everyone cries at weddings, do they not?

Zevran mocks her for the tears, but there is no malice in his words; he seeks only to offer distraction from her pain.

Anora is graceful and charming and regal, and Alistair is gracious and polite and noble, and only those who know him well can tell that there is no love in his eyes when he looks at his queen.

His first decree as king is to grant Amaranthine to the Grey Wardens, and she gratefully flees to the solace of its echoing halls. She throws herself into rebuilding the order and training the new Grey Wardens; to her surprise, Zevran stays with her, and does what he can to aid her in her new role as Warden-Commander.

She visits Denerim only when she must, but even in Amaranthine news reaches her. Alistair and Anora rule fairly and both are well loved by their people. They produce twins, a son and a daughter, and everyone rejoices; there is an heir, and the succession is safe. The boy is named Duncan, and Alistair ensures all of Ferelden knows he is named in honour of a great man. The girl is named Rose, and Alistair is silent on its meaning; she remembers a gift of long ago, and does not know whether to laugh or cry.

She sees him only on those rare occasions when their respective duties call for it, and his eyes always seem to grow sad when he sees her. They exchange stiff formalities, when they speak at all.

Years pass, and the taint takes it toll. The nightmares return, and, she knows the time for her Calling has come. She sets off alone for Orzammar; Zevran begs to go with her, but for the first and last time in their lives, she refuses him.

It is almost unheard of for two Grey Wardens to face their Calling together, but when she reaches Orzammar, she finds a familiar figure standing at the entrance to the Deep Roads, and she finds she is not surprised. He has forsaken his royal golden armour, leaving it behind for his son; instead, he wears his old armour, just as he does in her memories.

He smiles at her, and it is as if the years have rolled away, and all her sins have been forgiven, all their hurts forgotten, all other ties broken. She doesn't see the lines on his face, or the grey in his hair; she sees the love in his eyes and the strength in his arm as he raises his sword to salute her.

He tells her he has been waiting for her, and takes her hand, and they enter the Deep Roads.

The taint corrupts their bodies, but it cannot touch their hearts. The dreams come now even while they are awake, and they sense darkspawn closing in from all sides. They welcome it all, because here, at the end, they have finally found the one thing they can share with each other that no one will ever be able to take from them.

Together, they face the darkspawn one last time.

oOo

_

* * *

A/N: Alistair fans, please note – I've never actually treated him like this in any of my own games, nor do I truly believe he would act in quite the way he is portrayed in this story. This started as a 'what if', born of speculation about how Alistair might react to such a situation, and how/why he would tolerate it. Even so, it was hard to write, but I think perhaps I gave him a measure of peace at the end. I hope so, because I love the silly fool dearly._

_One of the things I like about Dragon Age: Origins is the fact that the world in which it is set is, in many ways, morally grey and very dark. It makes the setting much more interesting, and provides a nice framework for writing characters that aren't black & white.._

_One last thing : I was experimenting with a different, one-off style with this piece – the repetitions of words and patterns are entirely deliberate, and something I normally try to avoid. I don't know if it works or not – I'd love some feedback on that._


End file.
